Twelve
Cecelia dressed slowly, donning her faerie clothing with care. One good thing about being at home was that she could do away with the long dresses and bonnets. She could let hair hang freely over her shoulders, and she could tuck it behind her ears. She shook her skirt out over her knees. Fae dresses were made for usability. They were designed with strips of fabric that fell to the length of one’s knees, and the pieces tore off when one got stuck sliding beneath a windowsill or through a keyhole. They were fitted to the skin, with no excess of material.
With her silk stockings tied up with red garters, she slid her feet into her fae slippers. She was ready. She was ready for anything that could happen today. Anything at all.
She stepped into the breakfast room and forced herself not to react when she saw her father at the head of the table, with his head buried in his hands. He groaned aloud and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.
“Long night?” she asked.
He looked up slowly, like the light hurt his eyes.
“I don’t remember most of it,” he admitted.
He never did. That’s what made his crimes so heinous. He couldn’t properly apologize because he had no idea what he’d done wrong the night before.
Mr. Pritchens stroked a finger along the line of his jaw, almost absently, as he stared a hole into her father’s back.
“I believe you had too much to drink. Then you proceeded to break some glasses and punch a hole in the wall, and you had to be restrained in your room until you drank enough that you fell asleep.” She looked over her shoulder at Mr. Pritchens. “Is that about it?” she asked.
The man nodded. “Quite right,” he clipped out.
“I’m sorry,” her father said, not looking up from where his face rested in his hands.
She didn’t respond. He deserved a solid dose of reality. He deserved to feel as miserable as they all did.
She filled a plate for herself and sat down at the table. After a few minutes of stilted silence, she asked, “What are your plans for the day?”
He heaved a sigh. “I have none.”
Mr. Pritchens spoke up. “I believe you’re to pay a visit to Mr. Randall today.”
Her father snorted. “I’m the last person he wants to see.”
“Probably,” Cecelia agreed. “But you should visit anyway.”
“We’ll see,” her father said. He raised an inquiring brow at her. “What are your plans today?”
“I believe I have to see how much damage you’ve caused, find out what the repercussions will be, and try to fix everything you’ve fouled up.” She took a sip of her tea. “That should take the whole day. And perhaps tomorrow.” And the rest of her life.
“I’m sorry,” he said blandly.
“Don’t be sorry,” she snapped. “Change.”
He threw his fork down with a clatter. “You think I haven’t tried?”
“Try harder.”
She hated to be so callous. But this problem wasn’t going to solve itself. He had to participate in his own care. He had to help them. He had to have a reason to help them.
She leaned forward, catching her father’s dark gaze with her own. She forced him to look her in the eye by not breaking contact. “If you can’t clean yourself up, I’m going to leave.”
He snorted. “And go where?”
She tossed her napkin into her plate and got up from her chair. “Anywhere but here,” she said as she left the room.
There was room for her in the human world, she was certain of that. She could be a governess or a nanny. She could even marry a rich lord and have his children. She’d have to clip her wings to do so, but maybe leaving home was what she needed. Right now, she couldn’t get far enough away from her own life. She needed someone else’s. Desperately.
Cecelia had to go pay a call on Mrs. Dalparsons. She was the only one in the land of the fae who might know what to give her father to keep him from drinking. She specialized in herbs and potions, and she knew what to give for every ailment. And if anyone ever had an ailment, it was Cecelia’s father.
She went out the front door, her skirts swishing about her knees, and looked up at the bright sun. The land of the fae didn’t have the same soot-washed streets as London. It didn’t have the litter or the dull gleam of disuse. It nearly sparkled. And she usually sparkled with it. But she couldn’t find a single spark within her. She drew in a deep breath and then nearly choked on it when she saw Marcus coming up the lane. He had to be a figment of her imagination. His body was limned by the rising sun, and he was hatless, his hair loose about his shoulders.
Her breath halted in her throat, and tears burned at the backs of her eyes. She blinked them back and stayed put. She wouldn’t run and fling herself into his arms. She couldn’t let him know that she needed him that much. But she needed him. Good God, she needed him.
“Marcus,” she said as he walked closer to her. His grin was almost infectious. “What are you doing here?”
He lifted a stalk of wheat to his lips and then talked around it. “This is kind of like déjà vu, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He mocked her tone. “What are you doing here?” He changed to his own deeper tone. “Looking for you, you ninny.” Her tone. “Why are you looking for me?” His. “Because I can’t live without you.”
He held his hand to his heart and looked at her, and then reached for her. She didn’t even think twice before she took his hand. It swallowed hers as he came to stand beside her on the top step. Then he sat down and tugged on her fingertips until she sat down beside him.
His knee brushed hers, the warmth of his leg seeping through his trousers and the skirt of her dress. “My parents came for a visit. It’s my grandmother’s birthday, apparently.”
Her heart sank.
“I think it was a trick,” he admitted, grinning, “because her birthday isn’t until January.”
“But that’s why you came.”
He shook his head. “No. I came for you. Because I can’t live without you.”
He looked out over the fields and down the lane, spinning his wheat stalk between his fingers like a pinwheel.
“Marcus,” she began.
“You left without even a note.”
“I was going to send one,” she rushed to say.
He nodded. “Milly told me. She refused to give me one. Said I would ruin you.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “You ruined me a long time ago,” she admitted.
He chuckled. “And I thought I was the one ruined.”
She chucked his shoulder with hers. “We’re a sad lot, aren’t we?”
He put a hand to his chest. “I’m not. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I’m sitting in the land of the fae with the woman I love.” He smiled at her. “What do you want to do today?”
What had she planned today? She couldn’t remember, so she shrugged instead. “What do you want to do today?”
He threaded his hand beneath the hair at the back of her neck and pulled her so close that his next words brushed her lips, as surely as any kiss would. “I want to take you somewhere we can be alone, and then I want to hold you close and never let you go.”
She nodded, her nose brushing against his, they were that close. “All right.”
***
Marcus held her close to him, so close he could feel the beat of her pulse in the air between them. She’d said, “all right,” like he’d made the most reasonable request in the world.
“I’m going to marry you,” he warned.
“Don’t ruin the moment,” she whispered with a grin. “Just let me enjoy it.” She held up a single finger. “One day. Give me one day.” She poked that finger into his chest. “One day with you.”
He nodded and pulled her to her feet. It was one day that would start the rest of their lives. “One day,” he repeated like an idiot as he walked side by side with her down the lane. She turned around backward and walked that way, looking at him like he’d hung the moon and the stars.
“Am I forgiven?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Don’t ruin it,” she warned.
He held up both hands as though in surrender. “Not ruining it. Yes, I nearly forgot.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, her grin cheeky and infectious.
“We’re going to take a walk in the woods until we get to my grandfather’s hunting lodge,” he said. He could barely speak past the lump in his throat. But she was so damn beautiful walking backward in front of him, all of her attention focused on him, her smile so bright that it outshone the sun.
“Then what?”
“Then we can play cards.”
She frowned, her lip turned down in a pout.
“We can organize the cabinets and wardrobes in the lodge?”
Her lip poked out even farther, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss it. But that would come later.
“We can walk in the woods down by the stream and watch the sunset.”
Her pout disappeared. She liked that idea.
“We can lie on the settee and take a nap.”
She smiled. She really liked that idea.
All he could think about was lying with her on the settee and pulling her into his arms, and maybe even falling asleep with her head on his chest. His trousers were growing unbearably tight at the thought of it.
“I could undress you slowly and make love to you.” He choked out the last, nearly overcome by the emotion. Her smile faltered and turned into an expression he’d never seen on her face before. It was unadulterated lust. And she liked the idea, if the flush creeping up her chest and neck was any indication. But that could also be the exertion of the walk.
“I like that idea best,” she said, and she turned around and fell into step beside him. She was quiet as they crossed the hills and dales, and his feet were aching by the time they reached the hunting lodge, but it was worth it.
“You remember this place?” he asked.
“Of course,” she chirped. It had been a long time since they’d been there. Too long.
“I want to talk about the future,” he said as they crossed the threshold, but she held a finger to her lips and didn’t let him utter what he was thinking.
“Not today,” she warned.
“Today, Cece,” he began to argue.
She slammed her hand against the doorjamb hard enough to make him jump. “Not today!” she cried. “Today isn’t for regrets.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Just let me live. For today. Please,” she said.
“All right,” he agreed. And then he reached for her.